Super Heroes, Super Villains, Super Powers

There is a reason why so many of us love the comic books and hero movies. We love the adventure. We love the technology. We love the suspension of disbelief in seeing a man (assumed to be like any other) flying or exercising amazing strength and blinding speed. It is what all of us deep down wish that we could do. It’s a part of our imagination; it’s a part of some of our actual dreams at night. The chance of being Jamie and having a second, revered identity is bliss. Alas it all has to be left to idle fancy.

I speculate that mutations of the species do not exist be it by God, gods or evolution because of the shortfalls in our human nature. At the very least my own human nature would be a detriment to my ability. I would not be a villain but I would most definitely not go hungry either.

Save the day? Sure. Charge a fee? Not likely. Expect endorsements, gifts, total comfort? YES. Be willing to take a whole closet of gold out of Fort Knox if no one else was assisting me financially? If I had the super power to do it probably. Knowing that I could totally do something would make for quite the internal struggle between right and wrong. But my personal temperament would surely lead to the occasional justification of means where I would never venture as a mere mortal.

Then there are the moonlighting possibilities:

Invisibility – Security Consultant
Multiplicity- Building Contractor
Speed- UPS
Telekinetics- Mega Mover
Phasing-Art Thief
Plasticman- Porn

It’s no wonder he was always smiling.

Cheers.

Old Doodles from the Mind of J D Davis

Just found these and figured I would publish...

Bitter Rebirth (4/26/1998)

Everything in me that was good
Died with your silent exit
I became a beast again that day
Long had the monster been caged
The lamb walked about freely
Tender presence with no fearful reason
A spirit of love in statue’s eyes
I was a different man then
Now I am a killer again
Long caged dragon now barely bound
Growing stronger within this silence
Bitter and angry from the seclusion
Again stony in heart and mind
No longer appeased by life’s warmth
Untouched by grace once known
Blood flows free on these hands again
The door cast wide open as a broken heart


Bastardom (5/18/1997)

I have an Eve all my own
She gave birth to who I am
Within she bore a painful seed
Bitterness was begat by lies
Then silence begat pain
From pain was delivered violence
Then from violence came a child
I am a bastard
This is my lineage


Untitled and Undated (presumably in the window between 1995 and 1998)

How do I become the man I was when I do not remember that person anymore? I am a hard, cold, bitter, angry, young and old man. Once I was glowing from joy, peace, love, strength and vigor – That time is no more. All that I was has slowly died from the mortal wounds bestowed upon my personal being by the same people that said “I love you” (brotherly thieves, lying lovers, a silent bride and conniving clergy). People are hypocrites. And now I have nothing to say about anything that’s good. My name is Cain.


Cheers.

Saint Valentine, Cupid and J-Double-D

Yesterday was a day typically regarded with a either a headless saint or a fat, bow-wielding midget. It’s a corporate holiday that keeps flower companies in business at the first of every year in much the same way that the Vatican single-handedly demanded survival for fishermen in the middle centuries. It’s a farce disguised as a special day when there should be no need for a special day to declare your unyielding love for your soul mate. It’s pomp and circumstance.

So why do we participate in the ritual? We participate because for some pathetic reason we actually need a special day to do what should be a natural due process. Anyone who attempts a boycott is “bitter” or “lonely” or “pathetic”. Or he or she is sadly stuck in a loveless, joyless relationship. All of these are feasible. And all of these in many cases are bold-faced lies.

I never dated in High School. I had commitment issues. I had trust issues. I had obscene abandonment issues. I was overcome with religious guilt. And I did not have a single, solitary drop of real self-confidence. The boy in the mirror each morning was a masked performer nothing more.

When I started college, I sat with a group of girlfriends on V Day, ate junk food and watched “When Harry Met Sally”. I AM NOT GAY. But that was my day because I still did not date outside of the occasional fraternity or sorority function. I was a half way decent date for my lady friends who did not have significant others. I was safe, a gentleman and did not have the fortitude to believe that I could ever be anything more to anyone. I had issues.

I toyed with the idea of relationships in high school and the college years. I certainly did. But I also made certain that none of the things I wanted could ever come to fruition. All I had to do was always want to be involved with someone who was already committed to someone else. It was the perfect smoke screen to protect my emotional and confidence issues. I would just stay withdrawn within myself like a good little monk.

But then I met L. I was already in my mid-20’s and I had never had a legitimate relationship. She was a colleague. Then she was my friend. She became my favorite person with whom to spend my time. Eventually we became more than friends. And we became more without my ever actually asking her out on an official date. Our life together grew naturally. I could not stop anything or hide behind my usual masks because there was nothing to hide from someone who had grown to know me as I was.

And then I lost my grandfather suddenly to a heart attack. I went through the motions that had sustained me in previous losses. I took up residence at my best friend’s house. I sought solace where I had felt comfort as a teen and young man. But there was no comfort. I needed to be with her in order to feel any comfort, any shelter in the emotional storm throttling me. I only felt at home when I was with her. I was not going to even try to deny the obvious. I was completely and totally in love with this woman.

That is how I found my valentine. We were a couple for less than 6 months before we eloped. This year we will celebrate a decade of marriage. It has not always been easy. We have survived trials and in some cases one another. But we are still together. It’s not rocket science and it’s not something that is reserved for February 14th or our anniversary. It is 365 days a year.

It’s love pure and simple. It’s fate pure and simple.

Cheers.

Micro fiction----

So I started doing some drafts of a few things to eventually post one small vignette on a website hosting a micro fiction contest. This weird little piece is one of my installments that did not make the final cut. Cheers.

Great show tonight. And now that we’re back to the apartment, Mikey is going to give this lil’ girl the after show treatment. I see him toss the small blonde onto the bed; her purse lands just inside the doorway. Slam goes the bedroom door. I allow my right arm to phase through the wall and take her purse. They don’t notice anything. ID says Christy Ann Brown. Age 16. I go to my room. Our beds rest against the same wall.

“NO! No I can’t. Dammit NO! NO!”

Sounds like our little concert rat is regrettin’ sneaking into the show. Teen rebellion gone bad.

“Oh God help me. Stop. Please.”

“Shut up and be a good little whore.”

His head must be within inches of my own through the thin wall. The volume was low but so very clear in my ears. What to do? I pick up my cell phone and search for a number to the local newspaper. Got it.

Turning onto my knees facing the wall, I phase my hand and face through. Christy is face down; he does not see me. Shoving my hand into his skull I command only my finger tips to harden. I remove them and his limp body collapses atop his would be victim. The coroner will be scratching his head when the autopsy shows 5 finger tip-sized aneurysms that all blew at once. Phone ringing.

“Voice.”

“Take a Want Ad?”

“Sure.”

“Alternative band seeks Bass Player.”

Chachi really?

I recently celebrated my 36th birthday. And when I arrived at the office on that sad, sad morning, I found the above photograph pasted in a good many places. I had been Baioed in much the same way that Facebook has allowed people to Kanye themselves. The difference of course is that Scott “Charles in Charge” Baio is actually cool. Whereas Kanye is a douchebag lacking in respect, inner dialogue and impulse control.

I really have nothing to say. I just thought that the picture was great. And now people are calling me “Chachi” because people see this picture and perceive that through swollen, drunk eyes that there is a familial resemblance.

Cheers.

Good Richard Hunting

I have recently taken up listening to audiobooks. It is mush easier for me to enjoy a “read” (if you will) by attaching it to my ears and not to my eyes. As much as I enjoy a good read, time is really of the essence in this busy, hubbub life. My genres of choice have been classics and history. And this week I listened to Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. It is a great book from my youth; it is a great book now. And there are distinct funnies in the text now that obviously did not exist at its writing. So without further adieu I give you Treasure Island through the eyes of Dick…(All quotes come directly from the text.)


‘Dick’s square,’ said Silver.

‘Oh, I know’d Dick was square,’ returned the voice of the coxswain, Israel Hands. ‘He’s no fool, is Dick.’

‘Why, we’re all seamen aboard here, I should think,’ said the lad Dick.

‘But,’ asked Dick, ‘when we do lay ‘em athwart, what are we to do with ‘em, anyhow?’

‘I’ll wring his calf’s head off his body with these hands, Dick! You just jump up, like a sweet lad, and get me an apple, to wet my pipe like.’

You may fancy the terror I was in! I should have leaped out and run for it if I had found the strength, but my limbs and heart alike misgave me. I heard Dick begin to rise, and then someone seemingly stopped him…

‘Dick,’ said Silver, ‘I trust you. I’ve a gauge on the keg, mind. There’s the key; you fill a pannikin and bring it up.’

Dick was gone but a little while, and during his absence Israel spoke straight on in the cook’s ear. It was but a word or two that I could catch, and yet I gathered some important news, for besides other scraps that tended to the same purpose, this whole clause was audible: ‘Not another man of them’ll jine.’ Hence there were still faithful men on board.

When Dick returned, one after another of the trio took the pannikin and drank—one ‘To luck,’ another with a ‘Here’s to old Flint,’ and Silver himself saying, in a kind of song, ‘Here’s to ourselves, and hold your luff, plenty of prizes and plenty of duff.’ That’s what it begun with, but it went further’n that; and so my mother told me, and predicked the whole, she did, the pious woman!

‘Bring a torch, Dick,’

‘Give me a loan of the link, Dick,’ said he; and then, when he had a good light, ‘That’ll do, lad,’ he added; ‘stick the glim in the wood heap; and you, gentlemen, bring yourselves to!

I was in the apple barrel the night we sighted land, and I heard you, John, and you, Dick Johnson, and Hands

‘It was Dick,’ said one.

‘Dick, was it? Then Dick can get to prayers,’ said Silver. ‘He’s seen his slice of luck, has Dick, and you may lay to that.’

‘Don’t it, though?’ cried Dick with a sort of joy. ‘Well, I reckon that’s worth having too.’

‘Dick don’t feel well, sir,’ said one.

‘Don’t he?’ replied the doctor. ‘Well, step up here, Dick, and let me see your tongue. No, I should be surprised if he did! The man’s tongue is fit to frighten the French. Another fever.’

Dick had his Bible out and was praying volubly. He had been well brought up, had Dick, before he came to sea and fell among bad companions.

But Dick was not to be comforted; indeed, it was soon plain to me that the lad was falling sick; hastened by heat, exhaustion, and the shock of his alarm, the fever, predicted by Dr. Livesey, was evidently growing swiftly higher.

Dick, who had dropped behind us and now brought up the rear, was babbling to himself both prayers and curses as his fever kept rising…This grove that was now so peaceful must then have rung with cries, I thought; and even with the thought I could believe I heard it ringing still.



It was hysterical to hear...Cheers!

Snow...Licky Boom Down Down

There is snow on the ground. Flakes dropping with a consistency normally reserved for places further north than here. It’s a brisk, calm pretty through the glass of my window. But it’s a mirage of what is real. The truth is a city with Thoreau’s quiet desperation. Bread, milk and eggs pilfered from every store shelf. The white canvas contrasts with the dirty, slushy gray of tire filth on asphalt. Crushed metal on metal resultant of ignorance that was not bliss; people simply have no concept of what it means to drive in imperfect conditions. It’s as if snow is a heavenly pharmaceutical- a dumb ass Viagra. Winter in Louisville is like this.